The Noble Game
by FlashFiction
Summary: Dolores Umbridge tries to take control of Hogwarts using many techniques. But when she starts to mess with Quidditch (The Noble Game, as Rolanda Hooch calls it) Minerva McGonagall thinks she's gone too far. And when she refuses to reform the Gryffindor team, well, Minerva isn't going to stand for that! But all actions have consequences, as Minerva soon finds out.
1. Pre-match Preparation

**Author's Note: **I've been rereading the Order of the Phoenix and it occurred to me how many moments involving the staff could be expanded on. As I'm a massive Minerva fan, one of the moments that stuck out to me was the whole situation with the Gryffindor Quidditch team and how she handled that. This is part 1, as I'm planning to a second part in which Minerva reacts to certain players receiving life bans. Enjoy :)

Minerva McGonagall sat in her favourite chair in the staffroom, the large, dark coloured one that sat to the right of the entrance door and faced most of the other seats. Her greying hair was pulled into its customary bun, her lips pursed slightly as her deep blue eyes scanned the latest edition of _Transfiguration Today_. It was her favourite monthly publication, but sometimes she did think the articles were a tad ridiculous. Who needed to know a spell to transfigure an average looking toad into a slightly better looking toad? Either way, they would still both be toads! Her mind straying from the words, Minerva began to wonder whether the spell applied to toad-like people, as well as actual toads, and whether or not she would be able to successfully use it on Dolores Umbridge. These malicious thoughts had been swimming around ever since the beginning of term, the new "High Inquisitor" (what ever that was) driving the witch to the point of madness as she struggled to keep her anti-Ministry sentiments hidden. In the end, Minerva decided that the spell probably wouldn't work, as it specified average looking toads, nothing below, cutting Dolores from qualification instantly. It was a childish thought, but it gave her immense pleasure.

There was a polite, if slightly loud, rap on the door of the staffroom. Minerva glanced up from her reading, but Pomona Sprout had already jumped to her feet and had made her way over, pulling the door open. From her seat, Minerva could see Angelina Johnson, a tall, dark-skinned girl, with long, intricate braids falling down her back, the beautiful hairstyle never failing to draw Minerva's eye. She was a Gryffindor student in her final year and the Quidditch captain as well. All these factors meant that Minerva didn't fully go back to her magazine, keeping a subtle watch in case it was something important. As it turned out, it was extremely important.

"Miss Johnson," Pomona said with a smile, "How can I help you?"

The girl twisted her hands, clearly a little nervous, but her voice held an obvious sense of purpose when she spoke.

"Please, I need to speak to Professor McGonagall," she said quickly, "It's really important."

Pomona turned to call her friend, but Minerva had already jumped up and was at the door before she had a chance to say her name. Angelina Johnson was not the kind of person to get worked up over nothing, her level headed nature one of the qualities that Minerva had taken into consideration when selecting Quidditch captain. So if she said there was a problem, Minerva was going to take it seriously. The teacher gave her student a brisk nod in greeting. She waited for Angelina to speak, but the girl didn't, her hands still twisting together.

"There was something really important you wished to discuss?" Minerva said finally.

"Yeah," Angelina replied, nodding, her face very solemn, "Thing is, Professor, I've gone to Umb-Professor Umbridge about reforming the Quidditch team and she is yet to get back to me."

Minerva couldn't stop her eyebrows from contracting into a frown, her lips thinning. After that ridiculous decree, she hadn't even stopped to think that the Quidditch teams might have a problem reforming. It was Quidditch after all, a traditional competition between the houses of Hogwarts, not some secret organization set on overthrowing Umbridge. But Umbridge would probably be enjoying holding that power over the students, over her. This delay that Dolores felt was necessary probably had something to due with the rudeness that Minerva had displayed during her inspection. Minerva mentally kicked herself for not expecting repercussions.

"Professor Umbridge will be carefully considering all applications to her," Minerva said, sounding cold, "It is her job."

Her words were supportive of her fellow staff member, but her tone was barely masking the contempt and anger that she felt at this moment. Her words were empty, spoken merely because it was what was expected of her. Perhaps Angelina sensed it, because she hadn't finished speaking.

"I know, Professor," she said in earnest, "but the longer it takes, the less time we have to practice. We're supposed to be playing in a few weeks! Against Slytherin!"

Minerva felt her hands clenching up. This. Was. Not. Happening.

"I was hoping you might be able to talk to her," Angelina continued, "explain the situation."

_Not likely_, was the first thought that came to Minerva's mind, but she didn't voice this to her clearly anxious student.

"I will see what I can do, Miss Johnson," she said, "For the time being, I suggest you return to your studies."

Angelina nodded, giving a broad smile of gratitude, and ran back down the corridor. Minerva's eyes followed her and then, when she was gone, the older witch turned back around, slamming the door behind her.

"I take it you heard all of that," she said to the assembled crowd of her colleagues.

Pomona and Septima Vector nodded sympathetically. Severus Snape was smirking, trying not to let his enjoyment of Minerva's predicament show.

Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank took her long pipe out of her mouth and muttered "bloody bureaucracy."

Rolanda Hooch, however, was incensed, her anger stemming less from her best friend's troubles and more from her position as Quidditch mistress.

"How dare she!" Rolanda yelled, standing up so angrily that chair almost fell over, "How dare she play her stupid games with my Quidditch competition! All teams should've been cleared and allowed to practice long before now! It's only fair!"

"I don't think Dolores has much time for fair, Rolanda," Pomona said darkly.

"I don't think _Dolores _has much time for anything other than her ludicrous Educational Decrees and her precious Minister," Minerva spat, "Oh, that and psychologically torturing anyone who decides they have a different opinion: which is any decent person. She must know how important this is to everyone!"

"It'll be okay," Septima said, attempting to calm the situation, "I mean, at the end of the day, it's just a game. We've seen worse."

This comment did not help anything. Pomona took a breath, aware of how the statement would be received. Minerva gave her a scathing look. Rolanda's face wore an expression of complete disgust.

"Just a game?" the witch exclaimed incredulously, "Just a game? It is not and nor will it ever be just a game! It is time honoured display of skill and strength, of teamwork and house pride. It is the sport of champions, the Noble Game. It is a battle for the ultimate glory, a fight for the highest honour, a quest for-"

"-point made, Rolanda," Minerva interrupted, "thanks."

Septima looked suitably abashed. She was not a sporting woman and, not being a Head of House, the competitive nature that existed within some faculty members did not affect her.

"Well, what are you going to do?" she asked.

Minerva sighed.

"I'm not sure," she shook her head, "If I went to Dolores, she would simply know that she'd hit a nerve. If anything, she'd delay it further. But we can't wait much longer, not with the season about to start."

Through out this, Severus had been smirking, something that Minerva finally clocked on to. The two teachers were friends and usually very civil and supportive of one another, but Quidditch tended to bring out the worst in both of them.

"Do you have something that you would like to contribute, Severus?" Minerva said in a clipped voice.

Severus smiled.

"I thought it may be of interest to you, Minerva," he drawled, "to know that the Slytherin team was given permission to reform immediately."

Minerva froze, her lips pursed, her hands curled tightly into fists. On a nearby table, a glass lamp shattered.

"That. Is. It!" she screamed, "I will not stand for this blatant display of double standards!"

She turned on her heel and stormed towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Pomona called.

"I'm taking this to higher powers," Minerva replied, wrenching the door open and bustling into the corridor.

When Minerva reached the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the headmaster's office, her mind was already thoroughly made up; either Albus did something about the Umbridge woman or she would do something herself, something much more permanent.

"Liquorice Wand," she barked.

The gargoyle leapt aside, as it always did, but Minerva could swear there was a slight quiver of fear as it resettled; Minerva McGonagall in a bad mood was not something to be taken lightly, even if you were a statue and were technically not capable of receiving bodily harm. She marched up the stairs and pushed open the door, entering without even knocking.

Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk, his half-moon glasses on his slightly crooked nose. He was scribbling on a piece of parchment but, upon seeing his visitor, set the quill he was holding down.

"Minerva," he said jovially, "this is a pleasant surprise."

Ignoring this, Minerva went straight up to the desk.

"That _woman_," she hissed, "has disbanded my Quidditch team and is not letting it reform."

"Professor Umbridge," Albus replied, using a tone similar to the one Minerva had used with Angelina, "has, unfortunately, acquired the right to do that."

"I don't care if she's acquired the right to the whole blasted world," Minerva snapped, "it can not happen."

Albus gave a knowing smile, his blue eyes twinkling.

"You want to beat Slytherin," he said, a statement of fact as opposed to a question.

"That's not what this is about!" Minerva cried, though the idea of handing Severus the Quidditch cup had crossed her mind and caused her to shiver.

"Albus," she said, "I have been very good. She has undermined and insulted me, my colleagues and my friends. She has disadvantaged my students and shown great distrust in all of them. She has rewritten the rules of education, my very purpose on this earth, and I have held my tongue, because I know what she will do if I do not."

"But," she continued, raising herself up to her full height, "this is too far and I will not roll over and let it happen. Quidditch has always been an important part of this school. It means the world not just to the players, but to all of Gryffindor; it is a rallying point for our house, a source of pride, a great part of who we are as individuals and who we are as a group. There is nothing more special than to wear the red and gold worn by our brothers in arms and to come together beneath the banner of the lion that has united Gryffindors since the inception of Hogwarts. Dolores Umbridge can stop my students using magic. She can try to stop them thinking. But she will never, as long as I am in charge, suppress their spirit and pride. Nor will she ever break apart the unity of my house."

Minerva was breathing heavily by this point, the emotion of the speech draining her energy. But it had to be said. Rolanda was right; the Noble Game was so much more than just a game. It was not about winning or losing, honour or glory. It was about the simple action of coming together, of sharing common bonds, of being part of something. Though many of her students, she knew, would leave Hogwarts and not remember how to turn animals into water goblets or vanish snails, the one thing that would never be lost was what it meant to be a Gryffindor. Where ever they went, what ever happened to them, a tiny portion of their heart would forever be painted red and gold, as Minerva's still was. Quidditch was an important part of that feeling of family and Minerva was determined that somebody as insignificant as Dolores Umbridge would not destroy something so important.

Albus was simply staring at her, smiling, a look of curiosity in his eyes and of something else, something Minerva could not quite pinpoint. Pride. Yes, that was it.

"It is at times like this," Albus said, "when I feel that I have been completely vindicated in regards my choices of Head of House."

"And I daresay that many would feel my killing our current Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher would also be completely vindicated," Minerva replied, "Can you help me?"

Albus thought for a moment and then nodded slowly.

"Of course. I will see what I can do."

Of course, he managed to do it. Minerva wasn't entirely sure how, but she had, not long after her trip to the headmaster's office, received a letter from Dolores informing her that the Gryffindor team was reformed. It was a most formal and civil letter, but, holding at arms length, almost afraid to touch it, Minerva could feel the malice radiating out of each carefully written letter. This wouldn't be the end of it, she could tell. It was at breakfast the next morning that Minerva sensed the first signs of a war at its birth. She was leaving the table, chatting to Pomona and Filius, intending to spend her Saturday morning catching up on marking, when she was blocked in her path by a short, pink, somewhat manic looking Umbridge.

"I noticed that the Quidditch pitch is currently empty," Dolores said, an overly sweet smile on her face, "I'm surprised, given how important training for the game seems to be to certain teams."

She did not attempt to hide her glance at Minerva, whose face was stoney.

"We are all most appreciative of your decision to continue the competition," Filius replied, sounding polite though his eyes told a different story, "Are we not?"

Pomona nodded emphatically and then elbowed Minerva in the ribs. She winced and said, without emotion, "most appreciative."

Dolores scanned the three of them with her small, brown eyes, as if searching for something to criticize. Apparently unable to find anything, she shot Minerva one last look and then stepped around them, heading to her seat at the breakfast table. Pomona set off at a fast pace, deeming it best to get her friend out of that situation as fast as possible.

Upon bursting through the doors of the Great Hall, Minerva let out an uncharacteristic groan, causing a second-year Hufflepuff to glance at her in surprise and move away cautiously.

"She isn't going to let this lie," Minerva said.

"What did she expect you to do though?" Filius said indignantly, "Just stand and watch as she tormented your team?"

"I'm afraid that's exactly what she expected," Minerva answered, "which is why she's so put out now."

"So let her feel that way!" Pomona said with feeling, "That's her problem, not yours. You're the bigger person, Minerva."

She was the bigger person. And, Minerva reflected, she was also the person who had something bigger to fight for.


	2. Post-match Frustration

**Author's Note: **This is the second part to my Quidditch in the Order of the Phoenix story. I have, unashamedly, used Minerva to express some of my own frustration with what happens.

After the first Quidditch match of the season, the majority of the staff had congregated in the staffroom. Pomona Sprout handed around biscuits to go with the cups of tea that she had already made. Rolanda Hooch was chatting animatedly to Septima Vector, whose look of polite interest barely managed to mask the fact that she really didn't care about the finer points of refereeing. Poppy Pomfrey, who had finished attending to the usual after match injuries, was seated on a couch, next to Severus Snape, who sat with a complete look of disdain on his face (though whether it was for the present situation or a lasting look about the performance of his team, it could not be certain). His arms were folded, his lips shut tight, the Slytherin scarf that Rolanda had attempted to decorate him with partially obscuring his face. It hardly seemed possible to find another person who looked quite as angry as he did.

As it so happened, such a person stormed into the room only a few seconds later. Minerva McGonagall looked livid; her nostrils were flared, her eyes flashed dangerously, and her fingers were curling in and out, as if they wanted nothing better than to strangle the next person that talked. The witch stomped up to her favourite chair and sat down with a thump, crossing her arms so tight that it almost seemed like she would suffocate herself. The entire room had gone silent, everybody watching her with a slight sense of trepidation.

"Biscuit, Minerva?" Pomona said cautiously, holding the plate out.

She quickly pulled it away, as if something had burned her, when Minerva turned her dark eyes to her and glared. Mumbling an apology, Pomona went and sat down next to Filius Flitwick, giving him a worried look. She then directed that look at Severus, who sighed, pulling the Slytherin scarf off his face.

"Minerva," he said, sounding a little annoyed, "you won the match. I don't see why you're-"

"- banned," Minerva interrupted, getting to her feet and beginning to pace, "Three of my players, banned."

A look of understanding surfaced among many. When Dolores Umbridge had tailed Minerva to her office, following a post-match brawl involving some of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, the general consensus had been that the result would not be good.

"Bloody cheek," Rolanda exclaimed, "She ought to have asked me first, given I am in charge of Quidditch and all related areas."

"So they'll miss a game," Poppy said, reaching out her hand to try calm Minerva, "You've still got one of the best teams in years."

Minerva stopped pacing, closing her eyes as if what she said pained her greatly.

"Life time bans," she whispered, each syllable stressed, "Fred Weasley, George Weasley and Harry Potter. They will never play Quidditch again, not as long as that foul, rose-coloured, power hungry harpy has her claws _in this school_!"

She yelled the last few words. At this point, Rolanda lost it, and the rest of the staff started to mutter, some looking worried, some looking outraged.

"A MISCARRIAGE OF JUSTICE!" Rolanda cried, "I want to speak to my attorney!"

Poppy reminded her that didn't have an attorney, whilst Severus and Pomona tried (unsuccessfully) to placate Minerva.

"They were using violence," Severus said, extremely half-heartedly, knowing this remark would not get him anywhere.

"But a life time ban," Pomona whistled, "That's excessive, not to mention unfair, considering one of the Weasley boys wasn't even fighting."

"_Excessive_?" Minerva screamed, "Understatement of the bloody millennium!"

"Especially," she rounded on Severus, "when the person who provoked the fight got off with little more than a warning. Not that it'll do him much good; I suspect his house will award him a medal!"

"Who do you mean?" Severus asked, though he sounded as though he already knew the answer.

"THE MALFOY BRAT!" Minerva shrieked, "He can not lose with any kind of grace. Though, if we're going to talk about similarities with fathers, as seems to be customary with you, Severus, it's not really surprising!"

She glowered at the Slytherin Head of House.

"That child walks around like he owns this place and, to be quite frank, I've already got that Ministry hag claiming ownership and I do not need it from him! He may think he's a Slytherin hero, but that is not the case. He might think Daddy will cover him, but that is not the case! He may have been taught by his overindulgent parents that sun shines from every orifice of his gold-plated exterior, _but that is not the case!_"

"I know that!" Severus roared, jumping up from his seat, and advancing on Minerva in a confrontational manner.

"THEN YOU WOULD DO WELL TO REMIND _HIM _OF IT!" she yelled back.

They both stood, eye to eye, neither one backing down. Minerva's chest heaved up and down; she could not remember a point when she had been so angry.

"Minerva."

Poppy had stood up and was pulling on her wrist.

"Calm down," the healer hissed, "It's not him that you're angry with."

Minerva looked at Severus and she knew that Poppy was right. The person who truly deserved to be hearing this tirade was Dolores Umbridge. She was the one who had, with a vindictive pleasure, banned the boys, completely out of her own spite. She was the one who had caused all these problems.

"I say we burn her," Rolanda suggested, who had been ranting all this time, oblivious to the altercation that just taken place.

At that moment, the staffroom door opened and all heads turned; it was the witch of the hour, Dolores Umbridge. She smiled around at the assembled crowd and Minerva, blinded with fury, tried to lash out. Her movement, however, was restricted; Poppy was still holding tightly to her wrist and, at some point, Severus had grabbed onto her other one, completely stopping her from going forward.

"What an interesting match today," Dolores simpered, "If you see Madame Hooch, do congratulate her on the proceedings."

Minerva flicked her eyes to the side and realized that the reason Dolores couldn't see Rolanda was because both Septima and Pomona were sitting on top of her, clearly staging their own attempt to hold her back.

"I daresay the Minister would like to hear about what happened," Dolores continued, "I shall send him an owl right away."

She stared pointedly at Minerva, who was tempted to snarl, but was dissuaded by a warning squeeze from both Severus and Poppy.

"Do give him our regards," Severus said quietly, his voice impassive.

Dolores looked around. Everyone was completely still, expect for the struggling Rolanda and the still heaving chest of Minerva. Sensing she wasn't going to get anymore of a reaction, the High Inquisitor took her leave.

A few seconds passed before anybody moved again, waiting just to check she was really gone. Pomona and Septima both stood up, releasing Rolanda, who was muttering darkly and cursing under her breath. Poppy let go of Minerva's wrist, wandering over to talk to Filius in a hushed voice. Minerva went to move away, but found Severus was still gripping her hand. His black eyes stared at her, looking right into her own. For a moment, the witch felt determined to keep fighting, to hold her ground. But Poppy was right; it wasn't his fault. She held her breath, puffing her chest out, but then she caved in, her shoulders sagging and her head hanging forward. Severus pulled his hand away, but he did not stop staring. Minerva gave a pathetic laugh, then shook her head.

"Sorry," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder, "Sorry."

He nodded and sat back down. Minerva went over to her seat and slumped down again, once more folding her arms. There she continued to sit, looking sullen.

A little while later, when Minerva judged that it was late enough to justifying going to bed early, she stood up and made for the door. She had not spoken to anyone since her outburst, partly out of remaining anger and partly out of shame; what she had said had been completely unprofessional. It almost made her laugh to think what her students might say if they had heard her. It certainly would've shown her in a new light, though perhaps not a flattering one. Oh well; no one could say she wasn't passionate about her house! She pushed open the door and walked out into the empty corridor. As she went to go to her room, she heard footsteps behind her. Turning around, she saw that Severus had followed her out. He approached.

"Though I do not pretend to like any of the students involved," he said slowly, "I will say that what happened today was neither right nor fair."

"Thank you, Severus," Minerva said, "Truly."

A silent understanding passed between them. Their houses had been rivals for a long time. They often disagreed with the others opinion. Minerva always bet him at chess and Severus knew exactly what to say to infuriate her. Despite all these things, they were comrades. Allies. And, in the shadows of the hallway, that fact was reaffirmed. Once again, Minerva was reminded of the bigger picture, of the more important things that they were fighting for.


End file.
